


Do I have to make my own wedgie board or can I buy one from a witch or vegan?

by RainingPrince



Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, Ouija Boards, Prompt Fill, it’s 3am and my eyes hurt but here you go Mags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 15:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21211187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: It’s not even 9am on a Saturday, why is this middle aged woman on the doorstep of Jasmine cottage?Prompted in the M25 and I was just sleep-deprived enough to do it.I’m tagging it Ana/Newt because it ended up fluffy at the end but it’s not a particularly shippy piece overall.





	Do I have to make my own wedgie board or can I buy one from a witch or vegan?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mountagrue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountagrue/gifts).

“You’re a witch, right? I’ll give you £30 for a wedgie board.”

Anathema blinked blearily at the woman whose hair looked suspiciously artificial and stood out from her head with a frightening amount of spray. “............ What?”

“My son told me you were a witch. And when my daughter heard she wanted to know if you had a wedgie board. She insisted she needed one.”

“A wedgie...?” Anathema was not awake enough for this. She had been asleep until roughly 7 minutes and 31 seconds ago when the stranger’s sharp knocking had woken her up.

“How about £40? Will that be enough?”

“I’m really sorry Mrs...?”

“Tinley. Elizabeth Tinley.”

“Mrs. Tinley. I’m really sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s,” Anathema glanced at the clock on the wall of the kitchen. “8:48am, on a Saturday.”

Mrs. Tinley huffed just a little. “Those boards with the letters and the little pointer thing. I have no idea what it’s for but Mary insisted and I don’t have time to go into London to find a proper occult shop. Now, if you would be so kind, I have £50 cash and somewhere to be in half an hour.”

Anathema blinked. “Do you mean a Ouija board?”

“I’m quite sure she said ‘wedgie.’” Mrs. Tinley’s nose scrunched up to indicate that she thought this choice of word less than appealing but was committed to finding exactly what Mary had requested.

“You really have no idea what a Ouija board does?” Anathema asked.

”I don’t have time for this. Will you sell me one or not?”

”Give me three minutes.” She closed the door and collapsed back against it with a complicated sigh. “I’m not caffeinated enough for this.”

Being a witch, Anathema carried a vast number of supplies for various tinkerings and observations of the world. Looking at her collection one might form any number of assumptions. Theodolites and knives and maps and a pendulum or three, one could reasonably think “Witch” but could just as easily think “Eccentric city planner” or perhaps “topography student with a steampunk leaning.”

She wasn’t particularly a ghost-whisperer or demon-summoner. In fact in all her years of prophecy interpretation and aura reading and scrying for a great beast who turned out to be not-so-beastly after all, she had never once had use for a ouija board. This didn’t stop well-meaning friends and not-so-well-meaning “friends” from gifting her a fair number of them over the years. They usually just assumed it fit her aesthetic and didn’t really think or care about if someone else had done it first.

People were fairly unimaginative sometimes. She knew a pair of roommates back in the states who had let slip at a party once that they liked tea and had been receiving quantities far beyond their natural ability to consume for close to a decade since. They could almost run a shop at this point.

Sighing with a great amount of put-upon energy, Anathema pulled herself away from the front door and trudged down the hall to a cupboard where she and Newt kept a variety of items they didn’t really use from day-to-day but still felt awkward about getting rid of just yet. Yanking open the door and peering inside, she found what she was looking for stacked underneath several other board games (yes, one could consider it a game when the box has “Hasbro™️” printed in the corner) and a sloppy handmade clay serving dish that one of Newt’s younger cousins had made six years ago and presented to him to the great confusion of everyone else in the room. Newt had confessed his suspicion that she simply wanted to get rid of it but didn’t want to throw it away in front of her parents. He still felt oddly attached.

She pulled it carefully from the stack, balancing the trey and the rest of the boxes with her elbow. When she was sure nothing would fall she nudged the cupboard door closed and went back to open the front door.

Mrs. Tinley looked up from her watch, and relaxed just a fraction. “Oh, thank fuck.” She muttered, quiet enough that Anathema didn’t believe she was meant to hear it. “How much do you want for it?”

”Just take it.” Anathema held out the box.

A flash of alarm passed over Mrs. Tinley’s face. “Oh no! No, please I wouldn’t feel right! Even trade, and all that.”

She considered Mrs. Tinley's reaction and decided against antagonizing her. She wasn’t awake enough to make it worthwhile. “Just give me whatever you think it’s worth.”

The woman looked her up and down, considered for a moment, and then reached into her purse. Wordlessly, she held out £50.

Raising an eyebrow, Anathema offered the board, and they made the exchange in the three feet between them.

”Thank you very much.” Mrs. Tinley said shortly, turned on her heel, and made her way back to the very shiny four-door parked just beyond the gate.

Anathema didn’t stick around to watch her go, shutting the door with her foot and nearly running into Newt.

”Jeezus fucking-“ Anathema swore. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

”Who was that at the door?” Newt inquired.

”Just some woman looking for a headache cure.” True enough. “I am going back to bed.”

”Have fun. Gonna make breakfast, will you want some?” Newt swept her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She breathed him in, the smell of freshly laundered pajamas and his ‘Ocean breeze’ shampoo. “Sure, sounds nice.”


End file.
